When the War Came
by saphir-soldat
Summary: 22 year-old J.R. Brandt is chosen as Easy's resident war correspondent, but the brass down at Toccoa is shocked to find out that "J.R." is really Josefina, and now she must make the choice between covering the war from a limited position or becoming the Army's first female paratrooper and writing the war from a frontline perspective.
1. Introduction and Author Note

Okay, this is the introduction post for my first fic, which I'm tentatively calling "When the War Came."

Here are a few things that I just want to lay out at the beginning, so please forgive me if this is a bit disjointed.

1. As I said before, this is my first fanfiction. I tried writing one about four years ago (like, eighth grade) and as anyone who's ever gone back and read their old writing knows, it was TERRIBLE WITH A CAPITAL T. I am approaching writing this fic with a totally open mind and I am completely aware of the fact that this is a learning process. I'm dipping my toes in as we speak and am just getting used to the idea of putting words in the mouths of people that I've already seen act in such unique and complete ways.

2. Because this is Band of Brothers fic: I understand where people come from when they say that BoB / Pacific / Gen Kill / whatever fic is offensive because it is based on real people. I know exactly what you are saying. I myself have a weird sort of cognitive dissonance that I experience between watching the actors' portrayals of the men onscreen and reading a heartbreaking and beautiful memoir like Donald Malarkey's _Easy Company Soldier_. I want to make it very clear that this fic is about the actors' portrayals of the men, not the men themselves. That is my main point here. Any and all hate that I may receive about this will be read and addressed, but please try to take what I will write with a grain of salt. This is a place where I am just trying to be creative and have some fun writing my own character in a setting and with characters that I love dearly. Ultimately I have nothing but admiration and gratitude for the real men of Easy, and every person that served in WWII or helped in any way for that matter. It is that love and respect that I want to come through above all.

3. Boring disclaimer stuff: I do not own Band of Brothers and make no claims to do so (the book, the movie, etc.) I also do not own any song lyrics that I may end up using (one or two lines at most).

4. If I make a mistake regarding historical facts, please don't hesitate to point them out! My main character is a female reporter at a Philadelphia paper who ends up as a foreign correspondent, which is territory that I know almost less than nothing about. I am fully prepared to make historical inaccuracies without realizing it. Please don't hesitate to correct me! (Politely of course though)

5. Technical stuff: I intend to stick with this fic and will try to update as often as I can. I am planning for the first chapter to be short and descriptive, "setting the scene." The second will be longer, not skip around so quickly, have more substantial dialogue, and introduce a few familiar characters. By the third I hope to have my character fully immersed in the setting that we all know and love: Camp Toccoa, Georgia!

Okay, I think that is all I have to say for now. Deep breath. Here goes – onto to Chapter One! Hope you enjoy and please review if the spirit moves you.

Susanna


	2. Wake Up Your Saints

Chapter One

December 1st 1941

_lost and alive_

_it's a crime to make yourself cry _

The icy air bit at Jo Brandt's cheeks as she walked briskly down the street, her worn leather boots pushing down the light dusting of snow into dirty slush on the pavement. When she got to work she hung up her heavy wool coat and set her briefcase down at her desk, sharpening a pencil before sitting down to review the pile of work next to her typewriter. Taking pleasure in the small things was something the twenty-two year-old Jo was glad to get used to. Strong coffee, cigarettes, the clacking of metal keys. It was all so regular, so blissfully _normal _that it almost made her smile.

As a reporter for the Philadelphia Tribune, she had been assigned light pieces for months after being hired, and Jo finally felt she was making a breakthrough after a year and a half of hard work and perseverance.

It was a miracle she had even made it to the paper at all. As a woman her chances were lessened from the start, not even including the fact that she was fresh out of college with zero real-world experience in journalism, stellar transcripts notwithstanding. It had taken a real leap of faith for William Shandley to hire her, and Jo knew it.

During her senior year of college her attention started to focus mainly on the staccato bursts of news coming in from the darkening skies over Europe, and Jo had tried to find a way, any way, to go abroad as a foreign correspondent. She started writing to an old family friend who lived in Berlin and who sent her copies of old newspapers that told the real truth about Hitler, and about what was going on in the country in general. These papers were banned as the situation became progressively worse, and the letters Jo received became more and more infrequent and watered-down. Jo's age and inexperience, not to mention the fact that she was still in school, had prevented any realization of her dream to go overseas.

Immersing herself in work was the one thing Jo believed she was best at, and as the hours ticked away she work diligently, filing her stories and taking regular cigarette breaks outside, her breath full and icy in the freezing cold air. Most employees smoked right in the press room, but Jo liked the quiet of the third-floor balcony, where she could watch the planes fly overhead and see the tall Philadelphia buildings outlined with charcoal against a pale gray sky.

* * *

Soon it was time to head home, and Jo caught a cab this time as the sky was nearly pitch-dark and the temperature had dipped below freezing.

As she did at work, she hung her heavy grey coat on a hook by the door and left her briefcase on the red-painted bench. The smell of spaghetti sauce wafted from inside the apartment, and Jo ran a hand through her hair before heading into the small kitchen.

"I'm home!"

"Hey! Come on it, dinner's almost ready!"

Jo's roommate Frances Valenti, or Frankie as she liked to be called, stood at the stove stirring a large pot, her curly blonde hair falling out of the tight bun she wore to work as a secretary downtown.

"Smells great." Jo dipped her finger into the sauce as Frankie swatted her hand away with the wooden spoon.

"Hey, watch it!"

"I was just trying to taste it! Besides, I barely had time for lunch at work I was so swamped. I'm starving."

"Well, you'll just have to wait a few minutes."

"_Fiinnne_."

Jo, realizing how childish she was being, went over to the cupboard and pulled out her and Frankie's collection of mismatched dishes and flatware, and began to set the table. By 8:00 they were both done eating and Jo read a copy of the evening paper on her small bed as Frankie showered in the next room.

"No plans tonight?" Jo asked as Frankie toweled off her damp hair, frowning to herself at the headlines, blared in sticky black ink, that seemed to get more ominous each day.

"No, no hot date tonight. I'm going out with Fred on Tuesday though."

"Fred…Fred…which one is that? Was that the one who stopped by here the other day with flowers?"

"No, silly, that was Eddie. Fred's the one with the glasses who works up on 47th."

"Oh."

"We're going out to dinner and he might be taking me dancing afterward. If you want I could ask if he has any friends who'd like to take you as a double date."

"Um, no thanks. Work's going to be really busy next week because one of our head writers is taking a few days off to go visit his mother in Oregon. Apparently she's very sick."

"Really, Jo."

"You think I'm making that up?"

"I'm just saying, I don't think it would hurt for you to go out once in a while. That editor of yours is a very handsome man."

"Will? Oh my god, Frankie, he's my _boss_! I can't do that!"

"Whatever you say, princess. If you change your mind I can always call Fred for you."

"Duly noted."

Frankie set down her newspaper and took a deep breath.

"Well, I'm going to go shower now."

"Okay. I think I'm going to turn in early."

"Sweet dreams."

" 'Night."

Jo took a fairly short shower and toweled off quickly, eventually settling in bed with a copy of one of the newspapers her friend Dietrich had sent her, _Der gerade Weg_. Written in German by a man named Fritz Gerlich and dating from 1932, the paper denounced Communism, anti-Semitism, and National Socialism. Jo had read every word of it, cover to cover, along with many other copies that Dietrich had mailed her before stopping abruptly as the situation in Germany became worse. A copy of Gerlich's book, Der Kommunismus als Lehre vom Tausendjährigen Reich (Communism as the Theory of the Thousand Year Reich) sat on Jo's beside table. She shuddered deeply as she recalled the news of Dietrich's last letter, postmarked December 1939: Gerlich had been rounded up in 1934 on the infamous Night of the Long Knives, arrested, and deported to Dachau as a political prisoner. God only knows what happened to him there, thought Jo. Saying a silent prayer for the unknown fate of Dietrich and his family, and for the relatives of Mr. Gerlich, Jo fell into a deep and undisturbed sleep.

* * *

Well, there we go, my first chapter! I know it wasn't that good but it feels so good to have something out there, even if slightly nerve-wracking!

For anyone that wants to know more, Fritz Gerlich was a real and very fascinating person and here is the link to his Wikipedia page:

. /Fritz_Gerlich

Here is also a website (in German) that is dedicated to him and provides pdf copies of _Der gerade Weg_ (The Straight Path) if you can read German or are willing to type into a translator.

.com

He was also portrayed in the made-for-tv movie "Hitler: The Rise of Evil" which unfortunately is not completely historically accurate but does give a very full and informative picture of how the situation develop as to Hitler's rise to chancellor and eventual dictator of Germany.

I hope to have Chapter Two up by next week!

Oh, and the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from the song _Know Me_ by Frankie Rose, and the chapter title is from the song _Wake Up Your Saints _by the National.


	3. Streets of Philadelphia

Chapter Two

December 7th 1941

_the world will turn if you're ready or not_

When Jo woke up, Frankie was already off to work and the apartment was quiet. Normally she didn't sleep so late but she had been kept at her desk until eleven, and she had stumbled in last night so tired that Frankie had thought she was drunk. Most of the other writers who were there with her would probably all be in late too, probably later than her. She got dressed quickly and stopped at the corner diner for a cup of coffee and a donut before heading to the office. It was only 9:15 when she arrived, and everyone seemed to be in varying degrees of consciousness, which was somewhat strange. This cloud of sleepiness made William's announcement all the more jarring when he burst into the newsroom around noon, clutching a piece of paper and wearing a very frantic expression.

"We've been attacked!"

It took a minute for anyone to even look up, and it was clear that no one had really heard him. "What? What did he say?" Whispers flew back and forth and suddenly everyone was staring at the piece of paper in William's hands.

"We've been attacked; the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor!"

"Pearl Harbor? Where the hell's that?" Everyone looked around to see if someone had an answer.

"It's in Hawaii," said Lee Morris, one of the sportswriters, with a stunned expression on his face. "Most of the Navy's stationed there."

"President Roosevelt's just given a speech and we've declared war on Japan!" As he continued to speak it was clear that Will's normally calm demeanor was nowhere to be found, and that left Jo feeling more nervous than she already was given the situation.

He started to give new assignments to the staff writers and slowly more confidence crept back into his voice.

"Jones, I want you working on the speech the president gave, and Kodera I'm giving you anything you can find from the Japanese government. Strohmeyer, you're going to work on what this means for ordinary citizens, Philadelphians especially, and Brenner you can do an update on the situation in Germany. Anyone else, you can continue with your previous assignments if and until further notice. Back to work, everyone."

Jo opened her mouth to protest but instead of making a scene followed Will into his office a few minutes after he had left. She had barely gotten her head in the door when he cut her off with an exasperated sigh.

"Will, I -"

"Jo, please. I've got a lot to deal with right now and the pile of work on my desk isn't getting any smaller. I've got calls coming in left and right and -"

"I just wanted to say that -"

"Jo, if you have an idea for an article, just go ahead and do it. I'll look at it later. No promises that it'll make it to copy though, ok?"

Slightly taken aback by Will's sudden acquiescence, and despite still being somewhat annoyed at his quick dismissal, she mouthed a quick "thank-you" as he picked up his now-ringing phone. She darted back to her desk, not even bothering to sit down, grabbed her coat and put her supplies into her bag.

"Tell Will I'll be back in a few hours," she said to Corinne, the sweet society writer who sat across from her, by way of a goodbye, and left without another word.

* * *

She stood on the street corner for a few minutes, trying to decide exactly where to go. The bus that came next would decide her fate. As it pulled up she took a deep breath and hopped on. South Philly it was, then.

* * *

When the bus dropped her off Jo realized that she probably should have picked a neighborhood she was more familiar with. She could get back on the bus and head downtown again, but something inside her told her this would be an adventure. Walking over to the nearest pedestrian, she inquired as to the location of the closest recruiting center, and walked straight there with her head held high and a look of purpose on her face.

It was chaos. There were people everywhere, swarming the small group of desks at the front of the large room, the harsh December sunlight streaming in through the windows. Rising above the space was a cacophony of noises, of names and ages being given in voices of all tones, of military branches spoken and of the high, pointed, swirling sound of signatures being put onto paper.

Jo stayed off to the side for a full ten minutes, jotting down notes and observations as fast as her fingers would go, trying to figure out the most efficient way to handle the task she wanted to complete. Things showed no sign of calming down, so she figured the best way would be to dive right in. Get a few people to give their thoughts and add punch to her article. She wanted to capture this atmosphere because she knew it would only exist briefly, right at a place like this, right at this moment. People would be signing up for days but the initial rush gave off a feel like no other. Jo felt a fluttering in her chest that she often got before beginning a story that excited her. Taking a deep breath, she approached a small group of men who had just signed off and left the line. They were more like boys, Jo thought to herself. The oldest one couldn't have been more than eighteen.

It was so loud that they couldn't hear her at first, and she had to repeat herself several times before one of them turned their head to hers.

"Hi, I'm Jo Brandt, I'm from the Philadelphia Tribune. I was wondering if I could ask a few of you a couple of questions."

The oldest boy, tall with curly blonde hair, answered first. "Sure ma'am, whatcha got?"

Extremely grateful that she had not been brushed off, Jo felt a surge of enthusiasm and confidence. "Well, when did you hear the news that Pearl Harbor had been bombed?"

"This morning, just like everybody else. I was helping get my brothers and sisters around at the breakfast table 'cause my Ma was having trouble quieting them down, and then Roosevelt came on the radio saying what had happened."

"And how did that announcement make you feel?"

"It made me feel as mad as hel-" he smiled, and caught himself, the slightest, most faint blush blooming on his cheeks. Christ, Jo thought. This kid isn't even old enough to grow a beard. "It made me so mad. Those Japs aren't going to get away with it, I'll tell you that much." His buddies all nodded.

"What branch have you signed up for?"

"The U.S. Navy, ma'am."

Jo continued asking questions and made her way around the group, receiving enthusiastic answers from everyone. It made her sad to see them throwing themselves at this, even though she knew it had to be done and that the cause was just. Their eagerness combined with their youth was what made Jo's heart ache. They didn't even know where they were going to be shipped to, if at all. The Pacific was their and Jo's best guess. After about forty-five minutes had passed she thought it would be a good idea to head back to the office by lunch, even though she could have stayed all day.

She decided to get one more interview for her article, and she didn't have to look very far, because as she was leaving someone came up to her and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Miss?"

She turned around to see a boy not much younger than herself, with large brown eyes and a sharp South Philly accent.

"Yes?"

"My friend over there told me you were doin' some sort of interview, and he told me I should talk to you."

"Yes, of course. I'm from the Philadelphia Tribune. I'll just need to ask you a few questions."

"Soitenly." Jo smiled at his pronunciation of the word.

"What's your name?"

"William Guarnere, ma'am. But everyone calls me Bill."

"How old are you, Bill?"

"Eighteen."

"When did you hear the news about the attack in Hawaii?"

"This morning, of course. I was on 17th and McKean shootin' craps when someone came out and told us what had happened. Everyone knew where Pearl Harbor was 'cause a fella in our neighborhood's stationed there. News got around real fast. I came down here as soon as I could."

Jo listened intently as she got the rest of his information. She had thanked him and was starting to walk away when she heard Bill yell from where he was standing.

"Hey Tribune!"

She turned around, smiling.

"What?"

"Maybe I'll see ya 'round."

"Maybe."

She smiled again and waved goodbye. He winked and gave her a mock salute, and she left feeling both happy and heartbroken at the same time, trying not to tell herself that the war would not prove itself to be so forgiving.

* * *

**Well, there we go, Chapter Two is done! Just a note: Bill Guarnere actually joined the paratroops in 1942, not 1941 as in this chapter. I am not going to apologize for bending the facts to suit my will because hey, if I didn't want to do that, I wouldn't be writing this fic in the first place.**


	4. These Days

Chapter Three

Spring 1942

_famous trumpet man from out Chicago way_

The bitterly cold Philadelphia winter had been long, but this spring seemed interminable to Jo. She wanted action, she wanted to report on something that was happening, not the homemaker fluff pieces that had been dumped on her desk now that every other journalist's efforts were completely focused on the country's gathering war effort. Her pushes to get a position as a correspondent _somewhere_, _anywhere_, had gone positively _no_where. She was this close to quitting, but the idea of finding another job where she would have to start all over again was marginally more disagreeable than what she had to deal with at the Tribune.

When Will called her into his office four months after the attack on Pearl Harbor, she was restless. She didn't care where she was sent now, she just wanted to be somewhere. Ideally it would be to England to report on a war that was now fully underway, but Jo knew better than to be picky. She sighed deeply to herself as she opened the door to Will's office, trying to remind herself that her assertiveness was what had gotten her the job.

She forced a smile and sat down at the scratchy wool chair in front of Will's desk. He finished straightening his pile of papers and then slapped his hands down on the table.

"Brandt, I think I've finally found what you've been looking for."

"And what exactly might that be?" Jo resisted an extremely strong urge to raise her eyebrows, although on the inside she was intrigued.

"I've got a friend from prep school whose father's going to be in charge of a new Army venture. The first of its kind in the U.S., and elite as hell. They're called paratroops, they jump out of airplanes behind enemy lines, and I want you to cover them."

"Come again?"

"They're being organized down in Georgia next month, and they're looking for a correspondent to cover their training. I told Sink – Robert, my friend's father – that I thought you'd be perfect for the job."

Although excited, Jo felt a little like she was being treated like a crying baby, at arm's length and with more than a little patronization

"Is there going to be any foreign coverage, or just training in the States?"

"To be honest, they're not completely sure about what's going to happen. But it's at least a year, maybe more." Will's more familiar tone was starting to emerge again.

"Well…it sounds good to me, but I'm going to have to think it over nonetheless."

"They need a yes or a no by Friday, so that gives you a week. I'll be expecting your answer with bated breath."

"Duly noted. And Will -" she started, as she got up and opened the door. "Thank you. I really mean it."

"No problem."

She gave a final smile and headed back to her desk. So she had a week to think it over. One week to decide the course of her life for the next year. Jo shut her eyes tightly and then reopened them, trying to alleviate pain that had been present since she had woken that morning. She reached for another cigarette and got up to refill her coffee mug in the staff room.

One week.

* * *

Thursday Evening

* * *

On paper Will was right – it was exactly what she was looking for – travel, excitement, a chance to be part of something special. The more Jo thought about it, the more she started to convince herself that it was a good idea. Anything was better than what she was doing now. Frankie had thought it was a grand idea. "You'll come home with some cute Army boyfriend and a year's worth of journalism experience under your belt to boot. It's perfect."

With advertising like that, how could I refuse? Jo thought to herself. Before nodding off to sleep she decided she would call Will in the morning and accept the position. No ifs ands or buts about it.

* * *

**I realize this chapter is really short and I apologize for it being – sort of – a bit of a filler. It moves the story along, but doesn't really do much past that. This week has been crazy at school, but I will have more time for the next chapter, which is going to be much, much longer, and Jo is finally going to meet some of our favorite Easy men! Please review if you wish, & constructive criticism is always, always appreciated.**


	5. Reste Avec Moi

**I just wanted to give a special shout-out to everyone who reviewed my first few chapters and who favorited my story – thank you so much. Your support is amazing and keeps me motivated. Without further ado, Chapter Four! Chapter Five is being posted right now as well, so look for that too!**

* * *

Chapter Four

July1942

_nights like these come and go so endlessly_

The problem with packing up only a part of your life, thought Jo, is that you never know you're missing something until it matters. Because she was only going to be gone for a year, she hadn't thought it was a good idea to completely up and move. Most of her extra clothes, and her books, such a large amount as to make Jo laugh, had been stored in the back of the front foyer closet. Even Jo herself chuckled at how few belongings she actually owned.

She and Frankie had a two-year lease on the apartment, and Frankie promomised her that the space would be there for her when she returned. Due to wartime thrift and simple economics, Frankie had grudgingly advertised for a new roommate, and found one in Evelyn Cancelmi, a sweet and funny girl who worked as an administrative assistant down at the Philadelphia Navy Yard.

Jo's date to head down to Georgia had been moved from May, to June, and finally to the end of July, which Jo had been told was the final deadline. For people that pride themselves so much on promptness, Jo thought that on this front the Army perhaps wasn't as great as they thought they were.

July 14th, ten days before Jo was scheduled to leave, was her 22nd birthday. Frankie and Evelyn threw her a small "party," inviting a few of their friends, and decorating the modest apartment with streamers. They had planned to go out dancing or drinking, but everyone was so tired from their various jobs that they ended up sitting around the small living room table together, sipping whiskey and ginger ale cocktails, reading to each from old poetry books, and gossiping about boys.

Eventually presents were brought out, and Jo was stunned at the generosity shown to her by girls she had known for less than a day. Evie and her friends presented her with a "care package," consisting of all the little extravagances that might be hard to find when she was traveling: Tangee lipstick, rose-scented soap, Jergens lotion, Max Factor powder, DuBarry nail polish, a few packs of Lucky Strikes cigarettes, and, most importantly, a pair of real silk stockings, something Jo hadn't been able to find in ages due to rationing. Jo thanked them profusely, told them it all too much, but they just smiled and laughed. Frankie's friend Vera presented her with a beautiful leather-bound journal, and Frankie gave Jo a gorgeous cable-knit sweater in a deep forest green, with silk rectangular patches on the shoulders.

When it had gotten sufficiently late, and rumblings were being made about having to head home and go to bed, Jo surprised herself by starting to cry. She hugged everyone tight, Frankie especially. It was going to be hard leaving her. Frankie had been Jo's first friend when she moved to Philadelphia from Pittsburgh six years ago, and they were as close as sisters. Frankie put her arm around Jo comfortingly, and then they started to clean up the dishes after everyone had left.

* * *

The next few days were a whirlwind of provisions: last-minute packing, getting things straightened out at work, receiving complete directions from Will, booking hotel rooms, and generally saying goodbye to the city she had come to love. Although a year didn't sound like much, Jo already felt as though the time was endlessly stretched out in front of her, an ocean she knew she wanted to cross but wasn't sure she knew how.

Before she knew it she was at the train station with Frankie, crying in spite of herself, clutching her ticket in her left hand, her suitcase at her side. She hugged her friend tightly with both arms.

"Promise me you'll write, Jo," Frankie said, fanning her face with her hand as she began to tear up. "Promise."

"I will."

"Take care of yourself, okay?"

Jo nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak. Normally she wasn't like this – she may have been full of salt but she was not full of tears - but somehow leaving had taken a lot more out of her than she expected it would. She gave Frankie a last squeeze and picked up her suitcase, boarding the train with a heart that felt both flutteringly light and depressingly heavy. She waved goodbye out the window until her arms were tired and she couldn't see the station.

* * *

**Special thanks to the wonderful book "My Summer at Tiffany" by Marjorie Hart for giving me the idea of Evie's gift. This book is wonderful and you should all read it.**

**On to Chapter Five!**


	6. Conversation 16

Chapter Five

August 1942

_so I'll leave the silver city / all the silver girls_

Georgia in the middle of August was not something Jo had ever given much thought to, but now it seemed to be the only thing on her mind. The heat in Toccoa was as bright as the blazing sun, and it was dry. City heat in Philadelphia was softer but sickening – it curled around the buildings and got into your pores – it was air conditioners dripping onto the streets and the smell of wet pavement and damp hair sticking to the back of your neck. Toccoa heat was different.

Jo sat on the edge of her hotel bed, trying to figure out what to wear. Her suit was the most professional choice, but the pants and jacket were black, and with the temperature at 91 degrees Fahrenheit, she figured drowning in sweat probably wasn't the best way to make a good first impression. Her striped cotton dress was more comfortable, but much too casual. Eventually she decided on gray pencil skirt, short-sleeved white button-down, navy patent leather heels, and a thin navy cardigan. She fastened the backs of her small pearl stud earrings and put her dark brown hair – already curling in the heat - up in a twist at the back of her head. She grabbed her brown leather briefcase, checking to make sure she had the pass that Will had given her to get onto the base, and headed out the door.

* * *

It should have been a clue that the receptionist looked puzzled.

The woman had looked at Jo's pass, and then at her, and then back at the pass several times, almost making to reach for the phone.

"_You're _Jo Brandt?"

"Yes, I am."

The woman handed Jo back the piece of paper, imprinted with Will's chicken-scratch signature, and Jo noticed something peculiar. It didn't read "Josefina Brandt," or even "Jo Brandt." It said "J.R. Brandt," which was the name Jo wrote under at the Tribune but never used in person. "Huh" Jo thought to herself. "That's odd. Oh, but he was probably just rushing. It doesn't make any difference."

The receptionist instructed Jo to sit, and then got back to her typing. After a few minutes an older, uniformed man came into the room and went over to the desk.

"Is the journalist here yet?"

The woman nodded her chin in Jo's direction. He glanced over, puzzled, then whispered something unintelligible to the receptionist.

After a few moments, and noticing Jo's worried expression, he turned to her.

"Miss, if you'll please come with me." He gestured to what Jo presumed to be his office. She noticed the last name on the little plaque on the door read "Sink." Oh.

She went in and shook his hand before sitting down at the small chair opposite the desk.

"Robert Sink," he said, brisk but not unfriendly.

"Josefina Brandt, pleased to meet you."

He sat down and opened a slim manila file on his desk.

"Now, what can I do for you today?"

Slightly startled by his question, she began slowly, haltingly.

"Well, my editor at the Philadelphia Tribune, William Shandley, went to school with your son. He told me in the spring that there was a position opening up down here to be a correspondent for a new Army venture – the paratroops – and said he had recommended me, if I wanted to go, of course. I said yes." She paused briefly, unsure of herself. "I was told everything had been worked out, and he gave me complete instructions – which I were told were given by you – as to the nature of this assignment. I thought everything had been worked out. But sir, if I may speak freely - " Sink nodded. "You seem more than surprised to see me."

"Well, Miss Brandt, I must admit that that is an understatement."

Jo felt her heart drop. "How so?"

"Your words about the position, and about my instructions, are completely true. But Miss Brandt, we had been led to believe by Mr. Shandley that you were, well, not a Miss."

Jo felt unbelievably stupid. What could that possibly mean? "Pardon?"

"To be blunt, Miss Brandt, we were under the impression that you were a man."

_WHAT?! _

Jo was speechless. A million thoughts darted through her mind, refusing to allow for any sort of analysis. So Will had _lied? _Had he? How could he _not _have?How could it never have come out, not once, in almost six months' communication, that they were referring to someone of the female persuasion? How? What on earth was the point?

"Forgive me sir, but this is as much news to me as it is to you."

"I can see that." He gave a small chuckle.

Jo fidgeted uncomfortably. "This…this is going to sound stupid, but what do propose we do about it?"

"Well, since we gave Mr. Shandley the most recent instructions, there have been a few changes we were considering making for the position. As you understood it, the position was to cover a company's training in the States, correct?"

"Yes sir."

"We were simply going to expand it perhaps to one overseas destination – England – but then another idea was proposed."

"Yes?"

"We were going to offer a choice. The first is to still provide coverage in the States, but then undergoing jump training at a separate school for non-army personnel, and then writing from non-frontline position overseas. The second, and the more involved, is the chance to train as a paratrooper and then providing full coverage until as far as this war extends. The second option is different in that it requires the person to be a soldier first and a journalist second." He paused, and looked at Jo sternly. "Now, because you have moved here and acquired housing and have generally uprooted your life for the purpose of this assignment, it seems only fair that we would offer you the same opportunity as a male prospect. However, this most recent development – the fact that you are Josefina and not J.R. – has obviously not been factored in. I'll need to talk with my superiors before I can give you a definite answer."

Jo didn't know what to say. She managed a lame "all right" before biting her lip unconsciously, a habit she had tried many times to break.

"Now can you tell me what you would be interested in doing, given the choice?"

"I would be open to the first option, definitely. The second…is a possibility, but I would need to think it over, talk to people back home…"

"I understand."

"I've understandably never considered myself paratrooper or even soldier material, sir, being a woman, but the Army nurses were definitely something I gave thought to after Pearl Harbor, so that door is not completely closed."

"Do you have any relatives that served in the Great War?"

"Yes, my father." Jo hesitated. "For, for the Germans, sir. He fought for the Germans."

Sink surprised Jo by laughing out loud. "For the Germans? Well, at least you're honest!"

"He was injured at Vimy Ridge and was honorably discharged in 1917. He and my mother immigrated to America in 1920. My father was a hardworking and brave man."

Jo had said these things so many times over the years that she was almost starting to believe them. They were all true of course, but there were also things she had no intention of mentioning to Sink – her father's problems with alcohol and depression and anger. The war had left him a broken man. He often resorted to violence when dealing with Jo and her mother Agnes. Wilfried Brandt had dropped dead of a heart attack when Jo was thirteen. She mourned his memory but never his absence.

Sink looked at his watch.

"Well Miss Brandt, this has certainly been an enlightening conversation, but I'm afraid I have to go." He got out of his chair and Jo stood up too.

"I'll talk this over with my superiors and I'll get back to you tomorrow. Please be prepared to have a decision ready by Friday, if that's not asking too much" It was Tuesday. Two full days.

"Of course not, sir."

"Good."

She shook his hand again by way of a goodbye. "It was a pleasure to meet you." He nodded. "Likewise."

They walked out of the office in silence and Sink walked into another room with an armful of paperwork picked up from the receptionist. Jo opened the door to the outside, greeted by a rush of hot air not unlike a blast furnace, shielding her eyes to the sun. She removed her sweater and began to walk toward the entrance gate. A large bus pulled up, full of young men talking animatedly to one another. _New recruits_, thought Jo._ I wonder where they're from_.

They began to file off the bus as Jo continued walking. She thought she heard a voice call to her, but figured it was simply a mistake. She didn't even turn around.

"Hey Tribune!"

Oh my god, it can't be! Thought Jo. Talk about a coincidence!

She whirled around to see Bill Guarnere, all smiles in an olive drab uniform. He looked almost as surprised as she did.

"I remember you!" He said, and Jo laughed in spite of herself. "What are you doin' here, sweetheart?"

"Oh, you know, just thought I'd do my part for the war effort. I'm here as a journalist."

"You don't say."

"I know, right? They were a little surprised to see me. They thought I was a man!"

_Did I really just say that out loud?_ thought Jo. _Oh goodness_.

"What! Impossible! With those legs…"

"Oh stop!" Jo smacked his arm playfully.

"Hey, watch it!" He smiled, pretending to be hurt.

"No, I'm serious. They were told I was J.R. Brandt."

"Is that not your name?"

"It stands for Josefina Rose, that's the problem!"

"Oh!"

Jo looked at her watch. "Well, I've really got be going. I need to telephone my idiot editor and give him hell for this – I think he did it on purpose."

"Does that mean you're not staying?"

"No, not necessarily. At the very least I'll cover training here, I think." She was almost going to tell him the choice Sink had given her, but decided against it. Probably not the best way to prove your competence by going around blabbing the contents of a private meeting on your first day.

"And?" Bill raised his eyebrows.

"And what?"

"It sounds like there's something else you were going to say."

"It's top secret."

"Oh. Well then!" He smiled again, looking mock offended.

"It was really nice seeing you but I've got to go."

"Oh, that's a shame. I'll see you 'round though, right?"

"Most likely you won't be able to get of me! I'll be recording your every move!" Oh god, did I really just say that, thought Jo.

"Hey, that don't sound so bad," he said, his voice trailing off as he looked over to the rest of the crowd, all milling about outside the main building. Jo chuckled.

"See you, then."

"See ya, sweetheart."

She waved goodbye over her shoulder as Bill trotted over to the rest of the waiting recruits. The sun was barely beginning to set now, lines of orange and yellow tracing the skyline like flares.

Jo took one last look at the base, the buildings set in perfect rows, and took a deep breath. Once again she was at a crossroads, with one decision to make. Two days to decide the course of her life. The difference was that this time, she had no idea of what to do. If there was one thing she hated most, it was feeling like she was forced into a situation without knowing all the facts first. Stumbling around the dark.

Two days.

* * *

**Well, there we go, Chapter Five. I'm actually really proud of it – it's six whole pages in Word, and I really loved writing the dialogue between Jo and Bill. Please review if you wish, and constructive criticism is always appreciated!**


	7. It's About Time

Chapter Six

August 1942

_I felt the fire of a burning question _

Jo woke on Friday with a pounding headache. She took two aspirin while getting ready in the bathroom, and that seemed to help. Last night's telephone conversation with Will had gone basically nowhere. He'd admitted to lying to her after Jo asked him point-blank, which she was not surprised about. But she was still in Georgia and still had a decision to make. The fact that it was based on a lie meant nothing when it came down to what needed to be done. She'd hung up the phone with more uncertainty than she'd started with.

Now, as she sat in the dim, early-morning light of her hotel room, Jo felt a rush of anger, and what bothered her the most was that she didn't know where to direct it. Not at Will – she knew he had been trying to help her, and not at Sink or anyone at Toccoa – they' d had no idea about what would happen. The only person left was herself.

Did she _want _to be a paratrooper? That was the sixty-four dollar question, and Jo could not, for the life of her, seem to answer it. Maybe what she needed was more time, but she was unsure of even that. But - and Jo's apprehension hinged on it - maybe it wouldn't be such a horrible thing to get swept up like this, in something bigger than herself. She was the only person there was to answer to. Maybe this was a good idea.

* * *

Walking silently through the rows of buildings, Jo made her way to the main office. Today was even hotter, and her blue dress stuck to her legs as she opened the door and felt the somewhat cooling breeze from the clunky metal fan resting on the receptionist's desk.

The woman, who Jo had found out was named Trudie, directed her again to Sink's office.

"They've got everyone in there," she whispered loudly. "General Taylor himself came down from New York special."

Oh boy. Jo took a deep breath, suddenly feeling dizzy. She gripped the side of the desk and tried to steady herself.

"Are you all right, dear?"

"Oh, um, yes, I'm fine. Fine. Totally fine," Jo answered, somewhat breathlessly. She seemed more like she was trying to convince herself than Trudie. She had a decision ready, but had been hoping that more information would be given to her. She was open to amending her decision, but she was not prepared for this. It sounded like an interrogation.

Sink opened the door then, and gestured for her to come in. We're ready for you, Miss Brandt."

Jo took another deep breath, trying to calm herself. _Sei tapfer, Josfina. Sie können dies tun. Be brave, Josefina. You can do this_.

She walked in with legs that suddenly felt like they weren't her own. When Sink asked her to sit, she was more than relieved.

When she looked up, she could see everyone in the room. Sink sat at his desk with a man Jo guessed to be General Taylor. She didn't see anyone else, like Trudie would have led her to believe. However, Jo wouldn't put it past anyone to hide behind a door or in the corner. She glanced over her shoulder nervously.

"Miss Brandt, General Maxwell Taylor." He shook her hand with a iron grip, and Jo tried not to wince.

After they had run through routine pleasantries, Taylor gave Sink a look that suggested they had better get down to business.

"So, Miss Brandt, you want to join the paratroops?"

"Yes, sir." The words sounded foreign to Jo, and her voice shook ever so slightly. She hoped Taylor wouldn't notice. _Say yes now, get used to it later_.

"What abilities do you possess that you believe qualify you for a place in this unit?"

"Well, sir, I believe I am prepared enough for all the physical requirements, and, sir, if I were to go into battle I'd want to know that the person next to me was trained to be the best." It wasn't a lie.

"And my skills as a translator, if they were needed – I speak German fluently," Jo added, almost as an afterthought.

Taylor nodded forcefully. "What is your recommendation, Colonel?" he asked, addressing Sink.

"Sir, I believe Miss Brandt has the qualifications. She writes very well. She seems extremely competent, and ready to take on challenges. If she were a man I'd say yes right on the spot."

"_If she were a man_" Taylor echoed. He looked straight at Jo.

"Miss Brandt, as a woman in an all-male fighting unit, we are not going to make any sort of special accommodations for you. None. You will be expected to live with the men as any other recruit would, and complete the same training to the letter. No exceptions will be made on your behalf, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I do." Jo sensed that Taylor felt she wouldn't make it through one week, let alone a year. A sudden flame rose up in her, sparking anger and defiance. She would show him that she could handle herself as well as any man, or even better. She would prove him wrong.

"All right, then." Taylor gave Jo a last nod.

"Well, Miss Brandt, welcome to the paratroops. We will provide complete instructions tomorrow when you return to the barracks. Reporting time is 7:00 AM sharp"

"Yes, sir."

He got up then, and so did Jo, and then Sink. She shook both their hands and left, surprised at how short the meeting was more than anything else. The realization of what she had just signed up for had not begun to take. Walking briskly past the front desk she said a quick goodbye to Trudie and rushed back to her room to telephone Frankie about shipping some of her stuff back to Philadelphia. Distracting herself seemed to be the best way to put off thinking about what would happen tomorrow. After a quiet dinner, she fell asleep with a book in her hand, not even guessing in the slightest as to what the next day would bring.


	8. Hold On

**I can't believe I'm already on Chapter Seven! Thank you guys so, so much for all the reviews, likes, and follows. Also, I apologize for writing Sobel in all caps, but it really seemed like the best way to get his tone across. I'll try not to do it next time :)**

* * *

Chapter Seven

August 1942

_I felt the fire of a burning question_

"YOU _PEOPLE_…ARE AT THE _POSITION_…OF ATTENTION!"

Captain Sobel's eyes darted quickly over the rows of new recruits standing in front of him, looking for even the most miniscule breach of Army regulations. It occurred to Jo then that Sobel seemed like the kind of man who would rather make up an imagined infraction than let someone go unpunished.

He walked swiftly toward a small, dark-haired man and resumed his shouting. "PRIVATE PERCONTE, HAVE YOU BEEN BLOUSING YOUR TROUSERS OVER YOUR BOOTS LIKE A PARATROOPER?"

"No, sir."

"THEN EXPLAIN THE CREASES AT THE BOTTOM."

"No excuse sir."

"VOLUNTEERING FOR THE PARACHUTE INFANTRY IS ONE THING, PERCONTE, BUT YOU'VE GOT A LONG WAY TO PROVE THAT YOU BELONG HERE. YOUR WEEKEND PASS IS REVOKED."

Sobel then moved to another man of small statue, accosting him in much the same way.

"NAME?"

"Luz, George."

"DIRT IN THE REAR SIGHT APERTURE. PASS REVOKED."

Jo thanked God she wasn't standing in the front row, where these questionings were taking place. Still, she prayed she would not be on the receiving end of one. WHEN DID YOU SEW ON THESE CHEVRONS, SERGEANT LIPTON?" Sobel shouted accusingly, looking the man straight in the eye.

"Yesterday, sir."

Sobel tugged on a loose thread coming out from one of the patches. "LONG ENOUGH TO NOTICE THIS. REVOKED." He moved quickly down the rows, and it was clear to Jo that she would likely be singled out, probably along with every other man in the formation. She felt her stomach do a little flip. _Sei tapfer, Josfina. Sie können dies tun. Be brave, Josefina. You can do this._

"NAME."

"Malarkey, Donald G!"

"MALARKEY'S SLANG FOR BULLSHIT, ISN'T IT?"

"Yes, sir!"

"RUST ON THE BUTT-PLATE HINGE SPRING, PRIVATE BULLSHIT. REVOKED." Sobel moved again, this time stopping directly in front of Jo. _Oh god._

"NAME."

"Brandt, Jo, sir."

"STATE YOUR _FULL_ NAME, PRIVATE."

"Brandt, Josefina Rose, sir."

"I REALIZE, PRIVATE BRANDT, THAT AS THE ONLY WOMAN IN A UNIT OF ALL MEN, YOU MIGHT HAVE EXPECTED SOME SORT OF INDIVIDUAL ASSISSTANCE. BY SIGNING UP FOR THE PARATROOPERS YOU HAVE RELINQUISHED ANY AND ALL SPECIAL TREATMENT THAT MAY HAVE BEEN GIVEN TO YOU BY ANY MEMBER OF THIS INSTITUTION. YOU WILL BECOME A SOLDIER FIRST AND A WOMAN SECOND. NOTHING IS GOING TO STAND IN THE WAY OF EASY COMPANY BECOMING THE BEST COMPANY IN THE REGIMENT, LEAST OF ALL YOU. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

"Yes, sir."

"GOOD." _Well, that wasn't…_so bad_…was it?_ Jo thought to herself. _Definitely not as horrible as I was expecting. _It was basically just another version of what Sink and Taylor had given her the day before.

NAME."

"Liebgott, Joseph D, sir."

"RUSTY BAYONET, LIEBGOTT. YOU WANNA KILL GERMANS."

"Yes, sir."

"NOT WITH THIS. I WILL NOT TAKE THIS RUSTY PIECE OF SHIT TO WAR, AND I WILL NOT YAKE YOU TO WAR IN YOUR CONDITION. NOW THANKS TO THESE MEN AND THEIR INFRACTIONS, EVERY MAN IN THE COMPANY WHO HAD A WEEKEND PASS – HAS LOST IT." Everyone groaned, but Sobel didn't seem to notice. "CHANGE INTO YOUR PT GEAR, WE'RE RUNNING CURRAHEE."

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking, Perconte? Blousin' your pants…"

Back in the barracks, everyone grumbled over the loss of their passes while quickly changing into army-issue shorts and t-shirts. Jo felt her first real twinge of panic. She had to change in front of these men. All of them. After a few minutes she was the last one standing in her uniform while everyone was making to leave. She tugged at the waist of her pants hesitantly and faced toward the wall. Bill seemed to sense her nervousness and came over to where she was standing.

"You okay, Tribune?"

"Yeah, I'm just…."

"Just….?" Jo felt she was being childish. How the hell was she going to prove that she belonged here if she couldn't do one simple thing?

"You know what, I am gonna change in front of them and act like it's no big-"

"All right, everybody listen up!" Bill said in a strong, confident voice. "I just wanna make something real clear here. If any a' you so much as look at Jo here funny, when she's changin' or showerin' or _anything_, you ain't gonna be able to walk for a month. Got it?"

A few men chuckled, making comments under their breath. "_I mean it." _Bill growled, and the laughing stopped almost as quickly as it started.

"All right then." He patted Jo on the arm and left her to change in peace. She quickly got into her shorts and t-shirt and jogged out the door.

* * *

"WE FALL UPON THE RISERS, WE FALL UPON THE GRASS, WE NEVER LAND UPON OUR FEET WE ALWAYS HIT OUR ASS. HIGHTY-TIGHTY CHRIST ALMIGHTY WHO THE HELL ARE WE? ZIM ZAM GOD DAMN WE'RE AIRBORNE INFANTRY!"

Cadence always seemed to make the time go by faster than it really did, and Jo was grateful. When she ran, all she could think about was putting one foot in front of the other. Physical activity had not been part of her daily life in Philadelphia, and although she was healthy, the extremely rigorous training regimen was starting to take its toll on her. She'd been at Toccoa nearly a week and when she wasn't doing any exercise her muscles ached like crazy. The only thing that made her feel better was the fact that everyone else was going through the same thing. Well, almost the same thing.

Jo had gotten used to Sobel's singling her out on daily runs, and to a certain extent he did it to every man in the company, but somehow what he screamed at her felt different. It didn't bother her usually – she'd been on the receiving end of much worse. There was one incident though, that made her stomach knot and left her simmering angry.

"PRIVATE BRANDT, YOU LOOK TIRED!" On the two-week mark since arriving at Toccoa, Jo had already learned to tune out Sobel's tirades. She looked straight ahead, mouth in a hard line, and concentrated on her target, the top of Currahee, to which she'd run at least a dozen times before.

"THERE'S AN AMBULANCE WAITING FOR YOU AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS HILL. THIS COULD ALL BE OVER IF YOU WANT IT TO – NO MORE CURRAHEE, NO MORE CAPTAIN SOBEL!"

Jo's lack of a reaction only seemed to encourage him.

"YOU KNOW WHAT, PRIVATE BRANDT, I DON'T THINK YOU HAVE THE GUTS FOR THIS. I DON'T THINK YOU CAN MAKE IT. YOU MAY BE DOING FINE NOW, BUT YOU'VE STILL GOT A HELL OF A LONG WAY TO GO TO PROVE YOU BELONG HERE!"

Nothing out of the ordinary, no. Until Sobel ended his rant with a name that Jo did not care to repeat. It came out hard and fast and ugly, and by the look on his face Sobel knew he had crossed a line he hadn't really meant to. Jo glanced around quickly, and half the guys looked like they wanted to punch Sobel's lights out. Along with Jo, of course. She would tolerate all the petty insults that Sobel threw at the other men, all of them, but not this. But she knew giving in to her anger would mean getting in serious trouble, so she settled for giving Sobel her best "fuck you" look and ran straight on ahead. It was only after she got back to Toccoa that she realized her hands were shaking.

* * *

Usually late nights at the barracks meant talking. Shooting the shit and all that, usually while polishing their boots, but Jo had kept unusually quiet, choosing to focus on typing her articles rather than engaging in conversation.

One night, though, she finished her piece early and sat on her bed with her leather Corcorans on her lap, polishing them along with everyone else.

"What's your middle name, Tribune?"

This came from Perconte, who had taken to calling her Tribune after Bill, who had used the nickname since he had met Jo.

"Rose. Why?"

"I was just thinkin' – we got too many Joe's around here. Joe Toye, Joe Liebgott, there's too many Joes. Maybe you need another name."

"I've never gone by anything except Jo, Perco."

"How 'bout Rosie?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd remember to answer to it!"

"You got time, you got time. Rosie it is, then."

"I'm not sure about this, Perc…"

"Well, I think it's a beautiful name," said Bill, smiling at Jo cheekily. "Ain't it a beautiful name, Joe?" He turned to his friend Toye, a tall, muscular man with dark hair and somewhat hooked nose.

"Yeah, it is," he answered sincerely, in a voice that was husky and deep and even though she would never be the first to admit it, made Jo a little weak in the knees.

"Duly noted."

* * *

After everyone had quieted down, Jo decided to resume her writing, seeing that substantially more details were needed for a story she had initially thought was finished. Unfortunately, her typewriter was anything but quiet. The clacks rang out in the quiet of the room like a popcorn machine.

"Hey, would you keep it down!"

"I'm tryna' sleep here, Jo!"

"Cut it out!"

After about ten minutes of moaning and groaning they all came to the conclusion that Jo would have to be summarily banished.

"Nothin' personal honey," Perco had said while pushing her out the door. "You can come back when you're done."

She set her typewriter somewhat uneasily on a large rock and sat with her back resting against the side of the building. The only light was from the moon and the large bulbs on the outside of the barracks.

"The training at Camp Toccoa, Georgia can only be described in one word – exhausting."

As if to underscore her own point, Jo yawned deeply, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to stay awake, the sound of her keystrokes becoming farther and farther spaced. When she hadn't come back inside after an hour though, the men sent a still-awake Bill and Joe to go and check on her.

They found Jo sleeping peacefully, head tilted to her side, typewriter now placed in her lap. At Bill's orders Joe slung her arm around his shoulder, lifting her up into his arms. Bill followed dutifully behind with the blue 1939 Royal typewriter. Placing Jo gently in her bed with her machine on the floor beside her, they made their way over to their own cots, shaking their heads at this beautiful, determined girl, smiling to themselves in the darkness.

* * *

**Well, there we go, Chapter Seven. I know dialogue's not my strong point, so constructive criticism is always appreciated, as per usual. Please review if you'd like! **

**I'm also thinking about posting some fanmixes and/or dreamcasting and/or background info – would anyone like to see any of that? It might go over on livejournal, but I'd post a link. Thoughts?**


	9. Kiss with a Fist

**Thank you guys so much for all the great reviews, likes, and follows! Also thank you to Marie for pointing out my egregious German translation mistake in Chapter One – it has been fixed! And thank you to the wonderful IceColdInAlex for pointing out that General Lee was in command of 101st in August of '42, not General Taylor. That will be fixed by next chapter! Hope you enjoy Chapter Eight!**

**Additional note: For the most part I've sort of ignored the chronology set down in Ambrose's book in favor of the structure of the episode _Currahee_. Basically, I will end up incorporating all the famous experiences (the spaghetti, the pig innards course, etc) plus some stuff from the book like the march to Atlanta, without making the distinctions between the separate places the company was at. So basically I'm telling you that I'm having Toccoa stand in for all the other places Easy completed training – Benning, Mackall, Shanks, etc. that are mentioned in the book. The change of scene will come when Jo & the boys finally get to England, which will be either next chapter or the chapter after that. I'm also mentioning here that, as you've probably already figured out, I'm not one for getting the minute details right. The exact hierarchy and who does what is not as important to me as character development and etc. Feel free to point out if I've made a mistake, but please don't go crazy if I say so-and-so was conducting training exercises when in fact it would be what's-his-face because xyz officer would really be leading the men because of…(not that anyone's done that). I'm just going to use the characters I'm comfortable writing. I don't mean for this to sound harsh, but that's just basically how I'm going to do things. When we get to the actual battle scenes though, I'm going to work more closely with the book and not just have it be chaos; I want it to be at least somewhat factually accurate. But that's later! On to Chapter Eight, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Eight

October1942

_blood sticks, sweat drips_

_break the lock if it don't fit _

It wasn't the first time Jo had shot a rifle, but it sure as hell felt like it.

Her mind flashed back to when she was twelve and her family had returned to Germany for the first and only time, to visit relatives who lived in the southeast near the Vosges. When her mother and her aunts went in the house to cook her father had kept her outside, telling her matter-of-factly that it was time she learned how to defend herself. The metal barrel of the gun had cooled her tense palms and the polished wood gleamed beautifully in the mountain sunlight. Calm washed over her until she remembered her father standing beside her, a man who had seen the horrors of war and carried them, a soldier whose nightmares had not ceased for eighteen years. The tension in his body was visible in his tightly curled fingers, the way he stood. He showed her how to hold the rifle, how to aim safely and (somewhat) accurately, how to empty the magazine. The recoil from the weapon was made Jo scared, but eventually she could stand and fire without letting it shake her.

"Private Brandt. Are you listening Private Brandt?"

"Y-yes, sir" Jo stammered, jolted out of her reverie by Winters' question. He nodded, and then calmly continued on with his demonstration.

Jo appreciated that about Winters. He was firm in his discipline but you could tell he really cared about his soldiers. He didn't dish out petty punishments or become disproportionately angry. In fact, Jo had rarely ever heard him raise his voice when it wasn't needed for anyone to hear him. And most importantly, he never singled out Jo because she was a woman. She was always just another soldier, and Jo appreciated that more than she could articulate. Sobel, on the other hand, was a completely different story. Jo was regularly forced to run extra laps, carry extra equipment, and complete additional KP duty for infractions like "not keeping typewriter squarely under cot as to allow for swift exit from the barracks." If the punishments hadn't made her so tired and sore it almost would have been funny. However much she wanted to detail Sobel's petty cruelties in her articles, however, she had to remain professional. After all, her dispatches had no need to evolve into personal denunciation when there were so many more group ordeals to cover.

* * *

It had started on a rainy day when Easy was supposed to enjoy an afternoon of classroom instruction. Everyone had trudged into the mess hall only to be greeted by the hot, steamy smell of pasta and sauce. Immediately the men got in line, Jo somehow ending up at the back. Upon further inspection it was discovered that this was not normal spaghetti, but rather "Army noodles with ketchup" as Perconte proclaimed. He turned to Bill with an indignant expression on his face. "Guarnere, as a fellow Italian you should know that callin' this crap spaghetti is a mortal sin."

Jo chuckled as she sat down with her plate. "I see Sobel's gesture of goodwill is not being interpreted as such."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me, Josie? That sonuva bitch made you run six extra laps yesterday!"

Jo laughed bitterly. "Didn't you hear? It was for leaving my typewriter in the wrong place. One of you precious babies might've tripped and sprained your ankle." Her tone contained more than a hint of sarcasm. She held her spaghetti-wrapped fork like a glass of champagne, right elbow resting on the table.

"Oh please."

Jo had barely gotten in one mouthful when Sobel burst in the doors.

"CHANGE OF PLANS, EVERYBODY UP! WE'RE RUNNING CURRAHEE!"

Everyone groaned.

"Well fuck" Jo said, in absence of anything else. She got up and filed out with the rest of the men. It was preferable to run on an empty stomach rather than a full one. Not exactly better, but preferable.

* * *

It was only easy to be philosophical about Sobel's motivations at the times when you weren't on the receiving end of his insanity. This was not one of those times.

Running up Currahee was something Jo had gotten used to, but that didn't matter when her aching muscles screamed in protest every time she took a step. Collapsing on the ground suddenly seemed very appealing. She saw men around her vomiting, cursing, trying hard to stay focused. Sobel made his rounds, naturally, singling out Randleman as the target of his tirade. After a while though, someone piped up in cadence, and eventually they were all pushing aside their pain, running past Sobel with strength that seemed to come from nowhere.

"We fall upon the risers, we fall upon the grass, we never land upon our feet; we always hit our ass. Highty-tighty Christ almighty, who the hell are we? Zim-zam goddamn we're airborne infantry!"

Jo could feel raw energy coursing through her veins as she joined in, feeling stronger than ever. This was what it felt like, to be part of something bigger than yourself. It was a feeling she couldn't wait to try and capture on paper.

* * *

"Have any of guys seen my ring?"

"Your what?"

"My ring, I had it when I got here, it's silver with gold accents and a garnet in the middle. Have you seen it?"

Jo tried hard to conceal the panic creeping into her voice. Sobel had recently made it clear that as enlistees she and the men had no personal property. However unfair that declaration was, it had to be followed. She had taken her mother's heirloom ring and put it on a chain, carefully placing it under all her uniforms so that it couldn't be seen. Most people just assumed it was a cross and said nothing. Jo could tolerate extra physical activity, but this – this was over the line. She'd seen non-regulation clothing and personal correspondence get taken by Sobel and his cohorts, never to be seen again. She couldn't let this happen to the one thing she had of her mother's. The rest she'd had to sell when she moved to Philadelphia.

"I'm sorry honey, I ain't seen no ring."

"Great, just great."

"What, you think you lost it or something?"

"Not exactly." Perconte raised his eyebrows. "I think Sobel took it."

He let out a long breath. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"Me neither, but I have to get it back."

"Why?"

"Um." Jo could feel stinging behind her eyes. _Damn it, Jo. Not now._

"Because it's the only thing have of hers," she said, almost inaudibly.

"Huh?"

"It's the only thing I have of my mother's" she repeated, louder and more forcefully. The anger was starting to get to her.

"Damn it, Jo, why didn't you say so?" He seemed genuinely angry, more so than he had been before at Sobel's chickenshit.

"Like there's really any of us can do about it?" she asked bitterly. "I've got half a mind to go scream at him right now, but where the hell would that get me?"

"He'd just cancel your weekend pass, so what?"

"True." She was holding back tears now.

Right then, Sobel called everyone to attention. Jo quickly wiped her face with the back of her palm and stood at attention, ready to receive instruction. She'd have to wait.

* * *

When they got back to the barracks after completing their exhausting night march, Jo's anger seemed to have faded. It left a sour taste in her mouth, her insides feeling hollow. She just wanted to sleep.

Suddenly Bill was waving something back and forth in front of her face.

"_WHAT?!_" Jo growled.

"Is this your card?" he asked cheekily, handing Jo the mysterious object. It was her mother's ring, still on the chain. She gasped in spite of herself.

"Oh my god, Bill, how on earth did you get this?"

"From the man himself. We got our ways." He smiled again and gestured to Perconte, Tab, Toye, and the rest of men sitting around on their cots. They all looked very pleased with themselves.

"B-but isn't he gonna come after you? Christ, Bill, we're all gonna get it!" she looked up at Bill, panic-stricken.

"I told you, I got it from the man himself."

Jo looked at Tab and the others for an explanation.

"After Perco heard when you said, he and Bill went and talked to Sobel."

"You _talked _to him?" _Talked?!_

"Maybe talked isn't the right word."

"You _threatened _him?"

"Not _exactly_." Perconte smiled. "Well, sort of."

"And how did that go over, pray tell?" Jo was not convinced that Sobel wouldn't burst in the door at any moment demanding twelve more miles from all of them.

"It went fine." His evasiveness was making her even more nervous.

"Please just tell me he's not going to come after me any more than he already has." She knew she sounded ridiculous.

"No promises, honey. But now he knows that messin' around wit our girl ain't exactly a good idea."

"Is that allowed?! Intimidation? Christ, Perco, what kind of leverage do you think you have on him exactly?"

"Enough."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh gee, Josie, I don't know!" Frank was angry now. "Maybe the fact that he makes you run everything three more times after we've all done it? The fact that he's always punishing you for shit that doesn't exist? For things that never happened? Christ, Jo, we're all sick of seeing you get tortured by this bastard. One word to Sink and Sobel'd shut up for good, and you know that."

Jo looked down at her hands. "I never asked to be given special treatment. I appreciate what you've done for me, I just wonder at what cost. I don't want any of you getting in trouble because of me."

"It would be _my pleasure_ to get dragged into Sobel's office on your behalf" said Bill, and everyone nodded.

"We can all see the chickenshit he's givin' you, Jo, worse than any of what we get. And we know you're strong enough to handle it but there's a line," said Toye. It was the first time Jo could remember him speaking to her directly. His calm brown eyes seemed to make her feel at least somewhat better. She took a deep breath.

"Thanks. Really, to all of you. I mean it."

"You are most welcome," said Perco. "Anytime."

Jo declined to participate in the rest of the evening's after-dark chatter. She needed sleep, and sleep was mercifully granted.

* * *

**Well there we go, Chapter Eight! Next up: the famous "hawg innards" program and Thanksgiving at Toccoa! As always, please read & review! I will try to have the next installment up as soon as I can. Next week's shaping up to be a bitch and November 1st's my college app deadline, but I will at least try to have something for you guys. **


	10. Now is The Start

**On a personal note: I got my college application in! Never mind the waiting, at least it's _done_! Hope you guys enjoy Chapter Nine, & please review!**

Chapter Nine

November1942

_there is a new heart under there_

"You just broke both your legs, Private Gordon. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"NO SIR!"

"All right, stand in the door." Sobel's tone was less vitriolic than it had been the previous weeks, something Jo found to be a refreshing change of pace. She stepped forward, took a deep breath, assumed proper position, and jumped.

It wasn't very far to the ground, and she hit the dirt with surprising force. The fact that Sobel had nothing to correct – that her form was accurate, and that she hadn't made any huge mistakes – caused her to break out in a huge smile despite the pain.

There were always new challenges at Toccoa though, each one build on the next. She had at least learned that much.

* * *

"You have _got_ to be kidding me." Jo tried to keep her voice from faltering as her insides churned. She had turned pale as a sheet, and it took a hard grip on the arm from Perco to jolt her back to reality.

"You okay, Josie?"

"I- I'm fine."

"You look like you've just seen a ghost" said Tab, his eyes clouded with concern. It comforted Jo that they were looking out for her despite the fact that it wasn't just her that was tense.

She shook her head from side to side, swallowing hard. They all looked ahead at the hellish course set before them. The dusty ground was covered in guts. Pig guts. The smell was like nothing Jo had ever experienced, not to mention the fact that there was barbed wire over the innards. To top it off, there were machine-gunners firing live rounds over all of it. Jo tried to take a deep breath, but all her chest did was tighten. _Sei tapfer, Josfina. Sie können dies tun. Be brave, Josefina. You can do this_.

"You got this, kiddo?" Bill asked.

"I'll have you know that I'm a full three years older than you, William Guarnere" Jo replied, looking straight ahead with a somewhat dazed expression, despite her joke.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, yes, I'm okay." She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than Bill.

After a moment she heard Sobel's orders. "LET'S GO, EVERYONE DOWN!"

_This is it,_ thought Jo. _Here we go._

She gave Bill a resigned look and got down into an automatic crawling position. Shutting her eyes tightly, she tried to imagine that she was anywhere but here.

* * *

It was going to take more than one shower to get the smell of hog innards off of her skin, that was for sure.

Letting the water rush over her, Jo finally was able to breathe deeply. She rubbed the space between her neck and shoulders, surprising herself when she began to sing.

It was a song her mother had sung to her many times as a child, and that her father had listened to during the war.

"_Und alle Leute soll'n es seh'n / Wenn wir bei der Laterne steh'n / Wie einst, Lili Marleen."_

She enjoyed the way her voice reverberated in her lungs, her throat, the words flowing off of her tongue. It was a freeness she hadn't felt in a long time. It felt good.

* * *

The weekend after Thanksgiving there was a dance being held in town, and most of the guys were planning on going. By some miracle Jo hadn't lost her pass, but instead of reveling in her newfound liberty, she was planning to stay on base and catch up on her articles, and maybe get in some reading. All she wanted was a nice, quiet evening. That changed however, when she received a call from the main office at Toccoa around 5:00 in the afternoon before the dance.

_What on earth could it be now? _Jo wondered exasperatedly, walking briskly over to the main building. She'd been there more times over the past month than she cared to count.

When she opened the door, however, she was not greeted by Sobel or his disciplinary measures, to her intense surprise. Instead, the new secretary, a cheerful young woman by the name of Beckie, smiled at her with a mischievious glint in her eyes.

"Are you Jo?"

"Yes…?" Jo replied, looking around suspiciously.

"I'm Beckie! I heard about the dance, and I'm here to take you dress shopping!"

"I – wait – what? I'm not going to the dance."

Beckie looked at Jo, her mouth quirked as if to ask a question. "I was told that you were. If you're worried about getting in trouble, it's okay, I got permission."

"From who?"

"Well, Sink, he assumed that you were going."

"I'm afraid he assumed wrong." Jo hadn't meant for that to sound as mean as it did. "Oh god, I'm sorry, I just meant that - "

"It's okay," Beckie said, but her eyes somehow seemed less happy. Jo suddenly felt very guilty.

_Oh fuck it_, she thought. _I can't just leave her here. I'll get my work done tomorrow. I – I guess I'm going to the dance. Yes, I am going. To the dance. Yes. Dance. Good. Yes._

"You know what? I actually think I might go."

"Oh that's swell! We can leave in a few minutes, just let me get my bag."

"I should probably run back, get my stuff…?"

"Oh psshh, the outing's on me!"

"Are- are you sure?"

"Mm-hm! I just can't wait to find you something stylish to wear! This is going to be so much fun!" Beckie reached behind her desk and grabbed a small leather purse and her sweater.

Jo figured that Beckie was probably so starved for someone to actually go out shopping with that she was willing to take any opportunity she could get. _And who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth? _thought Jo. _I'll offer to pay again if we find anything._

* * *

The small clothing shop in town had provided a surprisingly varied selection of dresses, in a myriad of colors. Over forty-five minutes later, though, they had found nothing.

Not surprisingly, it turned out that Jo and Beckie's definitions of "stylish" were two very different concepts.

"Come and try this one on, Jo!" Beckie held up another pastel cotton dress, this time in pink, with small yellow flowers dotting the collar and hem.

"Um-"

"You hate it, don't you?"

"Not…exactly…" Jo was looking at another dress, a simple black number with a sweetheart neckline. "How about this one?"

"Goodness, Jo, you're going to a dance, not a funeral!"

Beckie sighed deeply and turned to the salesgirl, who was looking more annoyed with them by the minute.

"Have you got anything in blue?"

"_Dark_ blue" Jo added, and Beckie rolled her eyes.

"I'll look in the back," she said, obviously running on her last ounce of patience. A few minutes later she came out with a navy dress, with a just-below-knee-length skirt and cap sleeves.

Jo took it into the changing room and undressed, slipping the silky fabric over her head. It had been months since she'd worn anything but Army regulation clothing, and she had to admit that she was excited.

As she turned to face herself in the mirror, she let out a small, involuntary gasp. The dress fit her perfectly. It hugged her curves like a glove, and the color complemented her eyes beautifully. She gave a little twirl, and reveled in the sensation of the fabric swooshing around her legs.

"How's it looking in there?" Beckie called from outside. Jo opened the door and stepped out, turning around for her to see.

"Oh my goodness me, Jo, you look amazing! Absolutely stunning!"

"Thank you, I really love it."

"You'd better, because we're getting it! Oh gosh Jo, you look just like a movie star!"

"Yeah, Orson Welles maybe," Jo joked, but Beckie could tell that she was pleased.

Even the salesgirl's mood seemed to have brightened as she rang them up.

"We forgot shoes!" Beckie squealed, suddenly remembering. "What size are you?"

"An eight."

The salesgirl's smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, but luckily for the three of them, Jo found a pair of simple navy pumps on the small rack in the corner of the store, and managed to talk Beckie into letting her pay for her own footwear. As they walked out afterwards, Beckie checked her watch.

"How on earth is it quarter of seven already?"

"The dance starts at eight, right?"

"I think so. But I don't know if we have enough time."

"But…we have over an hour."

"That's not enough time to get your hair and makeup done!"

Jo had figured she'd just shower quickly back at the barracks and try and do something half-decent with her hair. The Georgia heat had a way of preventing it from cooperating.

"I think I'm okay, Beckie."

Fifteen minutes later however, Jo was sitting in a chair in front of the mirror in Beckie's apartment, which was conveniently located a few blocks from Toccoa.

* * *

Jo had to hand it to Beckie. That girl definitely had a career in Hollywood ahead of her if she ever decided to take advantage of it. Jo's eyes had been skillfully brought out with just the right amount of black mascara, and instead of the cherry red lipstick that was so popular, Beckie chose a deep rose that looked great with Jo's dress. Afterwards Jo helped Beckie get into her outfit, a lovely powder-pink tea-length confection, and they both left for the dance together.

* * *

The dance hall was already bustling with soldiers and their dates when Jo and Beckie got there, but the music didn't seem to have started. Beckie was planning to meet up with her boyfriend, and it looked like Easy hadn't shown up yet. Jo headed over to the bar, suddenly overcome with a chilly kind of nervousness that she hadn't felt in a long time.

"One whiskey and ginger ale, please," she said to the bartender, resting her hands on the long wooden counter and glancing over her shoulder. When he handed her the drink she took a long sip and closed her eyes, imagining for a second that she was back in Philadelphia.

"Hey sweetheart, how are you- "

Jo turned around to see Bill standing in front of her, his eyes wide and his mouth open, an expression of happy chagrin.

"Are you trying to _flirt _with me?" Jo asked, the corners of her mouth pulling up into a smile.

"No, I was just….I thought that…"

She gave an short, incredulous laugh. "You thought what?"

"You look great, Jo. I didn't even know it was you!"

"That's supposed to be a compliment, right?"

"Yes, it is."

"Well, I'll take it." She took another sip of her drink and surveyed the room.

"Is everyone else here yet, or is it just you?"

As if on cue, Perco and Tab appeared, followed by Chuck Grant and George Luz. They all stared at Jo as if she were some sort of mirage.

"Hey Bill, aren't you going to introduce us to your date?" George joked, slapping her playfully on the arm. Jo rolled her eyes.

"C'mon guys, I don't look _that _different!" It was all she could do to keep herself from blushing.

"She has legs! We never knew!"

"_George._"

"All right all right, I'm done. But really, Jo, you look great."

"Thank you. You can go thank Beckie over there for all of this." Jo gestured down at her dress and then to where Beckie was standing with her date.

Before Luz could respond, though, the band suddenly started up, opening with a snappy little dance number.

"Care to dance, Jo?" George asked, somewhat cheekily.

"Um, I'm just going to finish my drink, if that's okay." Jo didn't have much confidence in her dancing abilities, having never really focused on them. She would try the next one, though.

"Suit yourself." He winked at her and then went off with the rest of the men to go find girls to dance with.

Jo stared into the amber bottom of her glass, her cheeks already flushed from the heat of the room and from her nerves. _Why am I so nervous? _she asked herself. _I have lived and trained with these men for over four months. I really should not be acting like this._

She watched the couples dance through song after song, and eventually Bill and Perconte persuaded (read: forcibly pulled) her onto the floor for a few upbeat numbers. Despite her numerous declarations of _really Perco I am not a dancer you do not want to see this I am telling you right now_, she ended up having a lot more fun than she would have predicted. Bill was a great dancer, not that Jo expected anything less, and led her around so smoothly that it really didn't matter how bad she thought she was.

After a while though, she felt tired, and went back over to the bar for another drink.

"Just a ginger ale this time, please" she told the bartender. Sitting down heavily on the chair, she rested her elbows on the counter and rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers.

"Mind if I sit here?"

She turned her head to see Joe Toye standing next to her chair. _God, that voice._ It was enough for Jo to recognize him without even seeing his face. Like gravel and honey and-

"S-sure, go ahead." Jo decided that these dress uniforms really were not helping anyone.

Joe drank his beer slowly and then turned to her. "You look really pretty, Josie."

"T-thank you." It wasn't like when Bill or George said it, even though she knew they were sincere. This felt different. It gave her a deep, warm feeling in her chest and made her heart flutter.

"How are your articles coming?"

"Oh, pretty well, thank you. I've got to get caught up tomorrow though, and wire them to my editor in Philly. But that's it, and then I think I'm set for the week."

"That's good."

The band had begun playing a gorgeous slow song, _Moonlight Serenade_, that was one of Jo's favorites. The version here was without lyrics, and she tried to remember them.

_The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming / My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming? / I bring you and sing you a moonlight serenade _

"Would – would you like to dance?" Joe was looking at her now with those beautifully brown eyes, eyes that made her happy and sent her heart racing at the same time.

She nodded. "Yes, I – I'd love to."

They both got up and walked to the dance floor, Jo putting her arms around his neck, his hands around her waist. Slow-dancing didn't require much coordination, and for that Jo was infinitely grateful. They simply swayed back and forth to the music, Jo's head resting on his chest, in the crook of his neck. She closed her eyes and let the atmosphere wash over her. The fabric of his uniform on her cheek, his smell, a sort of clean, pine-needle and soap mixture, and the warmth and strength of his hands. If she had been asked in that moment if she would stay dancing with him forever, she would have replied yes in a heartbeat.

_Let us stray till break of day / in love's valley of dreams / Just you and I, a summer sky, a heavenly breeze kissing the trees_

The soft tones of the music floated around the dancers' heads, and everything felt as if it were going in slow motion. Jo's stomach had calmed but still she could feel a few fluttering (yet not entirely unpleasant) butterflies.

_So don't let me wait, come to me tenderly in the June night / I stand at your gate and I sing you a song in the moonlight, a love song, my darling, a moonlight serenade._

Jo was so wrapped up in the moment that she barely noticed when the song ended, and she regretted having to remove herself from Joe's embrace.

The clock on the wall now read 10:00, and Jo could see everyone starting to take coats and purses, heading out into the crisp November night. Cheeks still pink, she headed over to the chair where she had placed her sweater, Joe following behind.

"That was really wonderful Joe, thank you." She felt as though she were floating on a cloud.

"Do you mind if I walk you back?"

"Of course not. We're both going to the same place, right?" She smiled and took her bag off the table. Joe chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

Joe opened the door for her and she stepped outside, the cool air a refreshing change from the bright lights of the dance hall.

Toccoa was only a short walk, and Jo decided to be brave. They were already walking close to each other, so she reached out her hand and intertwined her fingers with Joe's, trying to ignore her own nervousness. He took her hand and held it gently, and she thought to herself that his touch had a way of grounding her, in a way that she couldn't explain.

When they got back to the barracks though, there were showers to be taken, clothes to change into, routines to complete.

"Goodnight, Josie," Joe said as they quietly walked to their cots, noting that everyone else was miraculously asleep. This night felt even more like a beautiful secret, shared only between the two of them. She could still feel the warmth of his hand in hers as she slowly nodded off to sleep.

* * *

**Well there we go, Chapter Nine! I had _so _much fun with this chapter, and I will admit that I was getting a bit swoony myself while writing the end! Hopefully I've paced it right with regards to the relationship that is now very clearly apparent. **

**On a different note, I've set up the beginnings of a LiveJournal that will hopefully become home to fanmixes, dreamcasting, and the like. All I've got are a couple mixes up now, but if you'd like to check it out, the username is when-thewarcame. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writing it, and don't forget to review! **

**Also – the lyrics that I used for this chapter & its title are from _Now is the Start _by A Fine Frenzy. It's an absolutely beautiful song, and I highly recommend checking it out. **


	11. Little Prayer

**Sorry it's taken so long for me to post, you guys – life always seems to get busier than you think it will! **

* * *

Chapter Ten

December 1942

_never quite found myself where_

_you all go to lose yourselves_

Before Atlanta, there had been another march, fifty miles on a Friday night, through a national forest, that was one of the toughest things Easy had done. No eating, drinking, smoking, or talking. Just keep your head down and put one foot in front of the other. Jo would be the first to admit that the training at Toccoa had pushed her farther than she ever thought she could go, but the pain she felt was exceeded only by her ability to push past it.

* * *

The weather on the first day of the march was miserable and raw, the kind of chill that settles in your bones. Jo knew better than to complain though; everyone was marching in full gear but at least she wasn't one of the machine gunners, or part of a mortar squad like Malarkey, carrying an extra sixty-five pounds.

She cursed whoever had shown Sink that damned magazine, the one that had shown Japanese troops completing a similar march, and caused the commander to insist that his men could go faster, longer, and with more equipment.

At a brief break for food, Jo dug into her pack for a bobby pin or stray elastic to do something for her hair, already pinned up under her helmet but with stray locks falling out, matted down by the cold rain. To her surprise she found a photograph that Frankie had given her before she left, one of the small, wallet-sized snapshots that had been all the rage back home to share with sweethearts and friends. Frankie's blond hair shone and her blouse was pressed perfectly, her smile speaking of better times. The corner was bent back and it was the slightest bit damp, but still salvageable. Jo was about to tuck it between the pages of her field manual for safekeeping, but before she could do so George caught sight of it, whistling loudly.

"And who might this be?" he asked, an unnecessarily cheeky but altogether typical glint in his eyes.

Jo eyed him suspiciously. "My best friend, Frankie. Well, she's more like a sister I guess. We were roommates back in Philadelphia. I've known her since I was sixteen."

"Don't even _think _about it, George," she glared, and he laughed.

By now Grant and Tab had taken notice, along with Perco and Bill, and soon a small audience had gathered as Luz passed around the tiny picture, much to Jo's protestations.

"Hey Jo, any chance you could, uh- " started Tab in a half-serious, half-joking way that Jo knew was meant to get her riled.

"No."

"Dearest, sweetest, loveliest, most beautiful Josefina," began Grant dramatically. "Whom we love, so, so much- "

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Charles."

"But- "

"No."

"Any chance she's got a sister?" asked Tab, less jokingly. He really did seem serious.

"No, and if she did, what makes you think I would tell you?"

"Don't be that way, Josie."

"_Don't 'Josie' me!_ You know that I love you guys, but the answer is no. She's like my sister."

"All right, all right, fine."

She plucked the picture out of Luz's hands and put it in between the pages of her book.

By now everyone had gathered back together again and the march resumed, Jo taking her place alongside Grant and Tab and Luz, rubbing her cold, damp hands together and blowing on them to keep warm. A group of men, Winters included, had done a voluntary maneuver during lunch, fixing bayonets, setting up machine guns, and preparing to attack, and Jo knew she should probably have been there to cover it. But her mind kept wandering around in circles – to thoughts of home, of Toccoa, which felt almost like home, to Joe – and the latter was what gave her the most pause. She couldn't pin down a single thought when it came to him.

Walking at a good pace, she took in the incessant chatter of the boys in silence, unable to keep from smiling to herself as they joked. She'd heard that one of the privates up in Company D had an accordion, and this didn't surprise her – singing was proving to be the most popular way to occupy the time on the march, with songs like Over the Waves, Beer Barrel Polka, God Bless America, and various college airs. Jo hummed Lili Marlene intermittently to herself for a while, until it began to get dark and she was too cold to do so.

When they reached the bivouac area around 8:45, the wind was so high that the men couldn't keep their fires going. They ate quickly and settled down in their pup tents, muddy and shivering, and Jo tried to imagine that it was warm, and that she could see the moon through the roof of the canvas dwelling. Maybe if she thought hard enough she would be younger and back in the mountains with her family, staring up at the stars, framed by snow-capped peaks in the endless inky sky.

* * *

The weather on the second day was more miserable than the first, if that was even possible. A mixture of rain, sleet, and snow was ever-constant, and Jo sensed her energy draining from her so steadily it felt almost tangible.

"Jo! Hey Jo!" Luz' voice jolted her out of listless reverie.

"What?"

"D'ya hear they've got a reporter up front?"

"Don't they know they've got a reporter in back?" Her voice sounded tired and cracked, and Luz ignored her comment.

"Yeah, some yokel from the Atlanta Journal. They gave him a uniform, a gun, a pack, everything. Strapped him to the front of a mortar base. Everyone bet he wouldn't make it."

"_Wouldn't_ make it? Unless I'm missing something here, I think we're all still marching."

"He did make it though…all five miles." Luz chuckled at Jo's scowling face. She let out a hard laugh.

"Five miles? That poor, poor man." Somehow sympathy was escaping her. Luz patted her on the arm.

"Just keep marchin'. We'll get there someday."

"Some day."

By now Jo could feel the rain in her bones, and as she trudged through the mud she felt an inexplicable need to go and find Joe. She hadn't seen him since the beginning of the march and she wanted to be near him, although the thought of actual conversation left a lump in her throat.

They'd been passing the machine guns back and forth because they were so heavy, and when Jo had handed one off to Luz she looked around for Joe, finding him marching with Guarnere, Malarkey, Skip, and Muck.

"Look, it's our favorite girl!"

Jo smiled weakly. "Hey guys."

"How'ya holdin' up, sweetheart?" She could see Bill was just as exhausted as the rest of them, and his eyes looked tired.

"I'm okay. Same old, same old."

She was aware of Joe's eyes on her, and she willed away the pale pink blush that was inexplicably blooming on her cheeks. _Sei tapfer, Josefina._

By now it was around a quarter past twelve, lunchtime. As they made their way to the chow line Joe began to sing an old Irish song that had been passed down from his folks, _Bridget O'Flynn_. It had been decided quite some time ago by Guarnere that Joe was a far better soldier than a singer, but that didn't seem to deter him.

"That's where I met your father Bridget da-a-a-arling." Jo couldn't help but chuckle as she heard Joe's voice.

When they sat down with their food Joe was still singing, but had now moved on to a rather dramatic rendition of God Bless America that left Guarnere and Malarkey in stitches. Jo sat off to the side, with silent laughter shaking her shoulders as she ate.

"Hey Jo, you wanna join in?"

"With what?"

"With this grand little sing-along we got goin' here. It's fun." Bill smiled cheekily.

"Are you kidding, I can't sing for my life!"

"Aw c'mon, I bet that's not true!" Skip smiled at her.

"I don't know many songs."

"How about Lili Marlene? Don't you know that one?"

"I doubt you'll want to hear the German version. It's the only one I know."

"Jo-sie, Jo-sie, Jo-sie!"

"No thank _you_."

"Pretty please?"

She glanced nervously at Joe, who gave her an encouraging head nod. _Oh all right then._

Taking a deep breath, she began hesitantly. "Vor der Kaserne. vor dem großen Tor. Stand eine Laterne…Und steht sie noch davor"

"Go on!" Bill was smiling now, and that made her feel better – it was nice to be able to make people happy when the atmosphere was so miserable.

"So woll'n wir uns da wieder seh'n…bei der Laterne wollen wir steh'n…wie einst, Lili Marleen."

She tried to lower her voice on the last bit, to sound like Marlene Dietrich, pronouncing the last bit like the famous singer did, "Lili _Mar_-layne." Finishing the rest of the song, she could feel her cheeks burning red, and hoped that no one would notice.

"Bravo! Bravo!" Skip and Malark were clapping, and Bill let out a low whistle. Joe smiled. "That was really good, Josie."

"Fantastic, _Josie_." Bill glanced at Joe for almost a nanosecond when he said that, the slightest emphasis on the word, and Jo felt the tiniest pinprick of pain in her chest, anxious that Bill had noticed that Joe was the only one who called her that.

"Have you got anything else to sing, _Marlene_?" asked Skip jokingly.

"I'm afraid that's it for today boys, we've got to get moving." She jerked her chin over to the sight of the rest of the men getting up and milling about, ready to march again.

"Damn shame," said Malarkey. "That's the most entertainment we've had in weeks."

They got up grudgingly and joined the rest of the battalion, talking quietly amongst themselves as they marched. Jo made her way back up to the group she'd started out with, thinking to herself that maybe she'd find Joe later. The thought kept tapping at her brain and it annoyed her how she was making herself so anxious, or even that she was at all.

When they reached the bivouac, the mud was reaching the tops of their boots. They set up tents in the mud, and Jo was so tired that she ended up falling asleep with her boots on, which actually ended up being a blessing in disguise. Feet swell up under extreme stress, and the boots, frozen overnight, were almost impossible to get on, even with all the laces loosened.

* * *

By the third day, misery had completely set in. The mud had frozen and it was a challenge enough even to get up, much less march. Everyone was in pain – their backs and feet were killing them, and exhaustion was making itself very clear.

Jo had seen Talbert marching along determinedly, his face the picture of steadfastness, slogging through the muck with his machine gun, and Malarkey, who could barely walk to the chow line at lunch.

She herself was in intense pain, but kept telling herself over and over that they were almost there. This was the last day. This was the hardest part, but they were almost there.

* * *

It felt now that they could make it through anything. All of the hardships they'd faced melted away when they reached Atlanta. Marching down Peachtree Street felt as easy as formation at Toccoa. Jo was embarrassed by the band that was playing, the big parade, and although she brushed it off, it made her proud to know they'd completed the march in less than half the time that the Japanese troops had. Now it was time to write.

* * *

When the parade was over there was a train waiting to take them the rest of the way to Benning, and boy was everyone glad to see it!

Jo pulled out her notebook as she sat down, scrawling hurriedly everything that she could before falling asleep.

It seemed strange that she would wake up so soon after being so tired, but when she opened her eyes the sky was dark and the train was still moving. The stars were the brightest Jo had seen in a long time and she smiled to herself, looking around to see if anyone else was awake. To her surprise she could hear someone moving around, maybe coming back from the bathroom, and then she saw the door open into the train car. Judging by silhouette alone, she could see it was Joe, and she felt her heart speed up. Should she pretend she was asleep? Writing? Should she say anything?

She stared down at her hands as Joe sat down in the set of seats across the aisle, and he looked around like she had. Jo looked up then, and they locked eyes for about a second, maybe less, and Jo felt her heart racing.

"Goodnight, Josie," he whispered, as not to wake anyone.

"Good night."

Jo wished that they were sitting next to each other, that maybe in some universe her head would be on his shoulder as she slept, but she tried to push that out of her mind. They would be at Benning by morning and there would be new challenges awaiting them. Jo thought to herself that her dreams had no place in a world like that.

* * *

**Well there we go, Chapter Ten! I would like to express my gratitude to the wonderful 506th website (for some reason it won't let me post the link) for a great informational page about the march, and to the memoirs of Bill & Babe, Major Winters, and Donald Malarkey for helping me so much with the details of this chapter. I'm not sure what song Toye actually sang, but "Bridget O'Flynn" is sung by Babe in the documentary We Stand Alone Together on the BoB boxset, for all who are interested. Chapter Eleven will be jump-training, so very excited for that! Thank you as always to my amazing readers, and please don't hesitate to review!**


	12. Big Jumps

**Aaahhh it's been way, way too long, and the first thing I must do is apologize! You guys have been amazingly supportive with this fic, and I must assure you that I absolutely have not given up on it ****at all****. My life is just all kinds of crazy right now, with AP classes and summer planning and stuff for graduation and preparing to start college in the fall. I wished more than anything that I would have a mega-chapter for you guys after such a long absence, but please take this chapter with the promise that I have majorly-face-clutching-ly-awesome shenanigans planned for England! **

**Please don't hesitate to review or to point out any historical inaccuracies regarding the jump training (this is where my lack of technical military knowledge is beginning to show...oops!) The song used is the amazing "Big Jumps" by the lovely Emiliana Torrini. Thank you all again so, so much for waiting. Without further ado, I present to you Chapter 11! (AKA the chapter in which I discover that naming my OC Jo when there are already two Joes probably wasn't the best choice for my sanity). **

* * *

Chapter Eleven

December 1942

_you afraid to break some bones?_

Unlike Easy's previous instruction, Fort Benning was straight jump training. It was, by all accounts, tougher than Toccoa, but a welcome relief after the physical exercises that had previously consumed the majority of the company's waking hours. The four-week course consisted of four phases, A, B, C, and D. But Easy Company was beyond the first stage, physical training, so much so that they skipped it altogether. It was the first time an entire regiment, three battalions and battalion headquarters, thousands of men, trained together and went on to jump training together to create nine parachute companies. When asked to run two miles, they ran twenty, earning the nickname the "walkie-talkie 506," as in "get walking," because they already knew their stuff, probably, as Bill surmised, because they walked there from Toccoa.

"Joe, get that thing away from me." Jo eyed the small, shiny sliver of metal that Liebgott was brandishing in his left hand.

"What, you're always bitching about how much your hair gets in the way during exercises. Just figured I'd try and be helpful." His mouth twisted up into his signature smirk. While his language had always been more than salty, he'd toned it down in front of Jo until he realized that most of the time, she was no better.

"I am not going to try and reason with you until you _put. The razor. D o w n_."

"C'mon, a nice little trim…or maybe a Mohawk?" His deep brown eyes glinted devilishly.

"You're funny, Joe. You really are."

They both narrowed their eyes at other in a shared death stare that seemed to last full minutes. Liebgott then made the most miniscule grab at a piece of her hair with the razor, and Jo let out a completely involuntary yelp. She clasped her hand over her mouth as Joe began to laugh.

"Eet vil only hurt a leetle beet, Josefina darlink," he said, in an extremely poor and altogether Russian-sounding attempt at a German accent, waving the razor around again.

"Nur über meine Leiche." _Over my dead body._

"Touchy!"

Jo resisted the extremely strong urge to stick out her tongue. Usually these "fights" didn't last very long, quickly degenerating into a back-and-forth of half-German, half-English insults without much base or sense, until one of the others, usually Guarnere, would yell at them to put a sock in it. But this time, Jo could tell that underneath that he really wanted to help.

"Lieb, honestly, if you are sincerely offering to cut my hair, I would be willing to talk. But if you just want to sit there and attempt to scare the shit out of me, then I am not interested."

"What do you think?" He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, the smirk once again returning to his lips.

"_Just _a trim. Nothing more."

"All right."

"But only if you wipe that expression off your face."

"Whatever you say."

"_I mean it_."

Joe rolled his eyes. "All right, no smiling, I got it."

It was only until Liebgott had put down the razor and retrieved a more reasonable-looking pair of scissors that Jo agreed to sit down and let him begin.

He worked methodically, carefully, and when he was done Jo couldn't have been happier. Her hair now just brushed her shoulders, bouncy and dark. She ran a hand through it and shook her head from side to side.

"It's perfect Joe, thank you."

"Can we all agree that I'm really not as horrible at this as you would have led everyone to believe?"

"...yes."

"Yes? Can you say that a little louder?"

Jo let her answer escape through clenched teeth. "...Yes, I admit that I was wrong."

"Did you hear that? Am I actually hearing these words coming out of your mouth? Josefina Rose Brandt, admitting that she was _wrong?_"

She glared at him. "You can stop now, Joe."

"Whatever you say, _mein liebchen_."

That was usually Joe's way of getting her even more riled up than she was before, but Jo was sick of arguing. She rolled her eyes, smiling, and smacked Joe lightly on the back of the head with her palm. He laughed, and soon Jo was too, a deep, belly-aching kind of laugh. Friends like these weren't hard to come by at Toccoa, but for Jo, it was like tasting chocolate after a lifetime of salt.

* * *

The easy part was jumping. The hard part was what came after.

Everyone had been talking and laughing on the ground beforehand. After all, why should they be? They'd spent weeks learning how to pack parachutes, and taken mock jumps from two-hundred and fifty-foot towers, which were in retrospect a hell of a lot scarier than they looked on the ground (to Jo at least). But she had had overcome her medium-at-worst fear of heights long ago. Even in the plane men were joking with each other, but when everyone stood up, Jo felt the cold pangs of fear in her stomach. _Sei tapfer, Josefina. Sie können dies tun. Be brave, Josefina. You can do this._

When she heard the shout of "FOUR OKAY!" from Guarnere in back, it felt like her "THREE OKAY!" to Grant in front of her was not her own voice. The green light came on and suddenly it was all coming at her a thousand miles a second. Closing her eyes for what felt like no time at all, she was in the doorway in a blink, and then in another second the floor of the plane was gone from beneath her feet. Remembering her training, she pulled the cord, held it, threw it outward, and let gravity do its job. Suddenly, she was floating.

Well, floating in the sense that she was traveling at two hundred miles an hour towards a ground that was coming up at a hundred miles an hour, but once everything leveled out it was not an entirely unpleasant situation. Jo looked around to see her fellow soldiers in much the same position as she, but a few had not fared as well, Bill especially. He hadn't thrown his cord out - one chute was over his shoulder, one between his legs, and both had opened, pulling him in different directions!

* * *

Once Jo had safely landed and rolled up her chute she ran over to Bill, who had come down face-forward and was sitting on the ground, limbs splayed haphazardly and looking a bit dazed.

"Jesus Christ, Bill, are you all right?!"

"What the fuck was I thinking? I started running the goddamn air!" he muttered, half to himself and half to Jo. He let out a stunned, forced laugh, and Jo couldn't help but smile. They both knew he'd catch holy hell for it later, and indeed he did. But she knew that Bill would prove himself on the next four jumps - they all would. Of that she was sure.

* * *

Before they knew it, the fifth and final jump was upon them, Christmas Eve. Standing in the doorway, the feeling in Jo's stomach still rivaled an acrobat's twists, but on the whole she was calmer than the first, by miles. Of course, one thought to what a jump would be like in any other sky sent her reeling. But she tried not to think about it. Just follow the directions, let gravity take care of the rest. Deep breaths. Go.


End file.
